


Hold Such Darling Wrecks (Hived Like Honey in Your Head)

by PuppiesRainbowsSadism



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Acephobia, Alpha!Dean, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Asexual Character, Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Beta!Castiel, Date Rape Drug/Roofies, F/M, M/M, ace!sam, omega!Sam
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-30
Updated: 2015-04-30
Packaged: 2018-03-26 09:50:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,671
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3846403
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PuppiesRainbowsSadism/pseuds/PuppiesRainbowsSadism
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam Winchester presented as omega at sixteen. Unfortunately (or luckily) for him, he was just beginning to figure out his identity as asexual.</p><p>Through college, a handful of crushes, defeating the Leviathans, and everything in between, he struggles to consolidate the two identities and figure out how to distinguish the difference between what he wants as a person and what his body wants as an omega.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> It's finally done! Many many MANY thanks to my wonderful (and tolerant) betas, callmedesdinova and donttouchmyseaweedbrain, as well as tenderjared for being a fabulous (and tolerant) artist.
> 
> I did end up rushing my writing towards the end, so I hope to post a continuation in the future, if there's interest. Until then, I'm just happy this is done. Enjoy!

No one expected Sam to present at sixteen, because even alphas, who were notoriously late bloomers, never presented later than fifteen. (Dean was one of these alphas, presenting just weeks shy of sixteen, and Sam gave him crap for it before this.) But the most surprising part was that he presented as an _omega_ , the first and only among the Winchesters.

 

It’s not that male omegas were rare -- not as rare as female alphas, anyway -- but John, purebred beta that he was, had no idea what to do with an omega son. His first move was to get Sam _registered_ like he was a goddamn dog. Sam never thought he would say it, but thank God for the protective alpha instinct in his brother, because Sam himself was in too much pain to argue, but not too much to be pissed. Maybe things were different when John grew up, but Sam had trouble believing that they were _that_ different.

 

Even through the haze of his first heat, Sam knew that everything would be different from then on. His dad would treat him differently – he would be stricter, probably, and more than a little sexist. Not on purpose, of course. It would probably all be subconscious, but that didn’t make it any less real, any less painful.

 

Dean would definitely be stuck to his hip now. It was generally accepted that an omega belonged to the alphas in their family before they were mated, and whether Sam agreed with that or not, he knew Dean wouldn’t let him go anywhere on his own. Except, maybe, when Sam was in heat. Then he might just lock him up somewhere and leave until it was over. Sam wasn’t stupid; he saw the way his brother’s nose crinkled in disgust, no matter how hard he was trying not to show it. The pheromones that were rolling off him in waves must have been horrible.

 

And Sam . . .

 

Sam was just beginning to understand himself, to get an idea of who he was as a person. And this?

 

This changed _everything_.

 

Sam was still, _technically_ , a virgin. He had a girlfriend several towns ago – a nice beta named Nicole – and he fingered her in the drive-in theatre while some black-and-white film played in the background. And it was . . . interesting, to say the least. The reason he still said he was a virgin was because, when Nicole went to reciprocate, Sam wasn’t hard, not even a little. Apparently, that offended her, because she broke up with him at the end of the night. Not that it mattered; he was on the road again before Monday.

 

But no matter how unpleasant or awkward the entire ordeal was, it was a pivotal moment in Sam’s short life. He’d always known, deep down, that he was broken. That he wasn’t normal. Maybe he had some wires crossed or disconnected altogether. He learned in biology that the only creatures who have sex for pleasure are dolphins and humans. So maybe he was a step down on the evolutionary ladder because he just . . . didn’t like it. Jacking it felt good and all, but it never really went anywhere; he never got off. Not that he ever told Dean that, because he would never hear the end of it if he did.

 

It was a slow, testing process, but Sam was slowly starting to accept himself as he was. He found a word for himself completely by accident – _asexual_. It was used in an article he stumbled across while doing research for oral communications. At first, he was reluctant to use it, because to him asexuality referred to organisms that reproduced via mitosis, and he knew it would mean that to others as well. But it was safe, this word, this label. It _fit_. It felt like something clicking into place, like coming home after a lifetime’s worth of long days. It was relief. There were others like him; he had proof of that now, and even if he was broken, it wasn’t just him. It couldn’t be all bad when there’s an entire community of people like this, right?

 

But now . . . now it all came crashing down around his ears. He couldn’t be asexual _and_ omega. Omegas were built to be knotted and bred – hence the heats they endured, unbearably painful without an alpha to help them through it. That wasn’t for Sam, but it had to be, now. He felt like shit just using the toys the doctor’s office provided. How was he supposed to handle having an alpha?

 

The first time Sam was left alone during a heat, he was seventeen. The acceptance letter from Stanford was hot off the press, hidden in the lining of his duffle while Sam wondered what the hell to do with it. Omegas didn’t typically pursue higher education, and if they did, it was only after they found a mate. It was dangerous for unmated omegas to go anywhere or do anything unaccompanied, forget going to college – surrounded by strangers, living away from home, paired with a roommate and suitemates at random. Too dangerous.

 

But now that he was alone – completely by accident, by the way; John and Dean would never have left him by himself if they knew his heat was so close – clutching his stomach and sobbing every time a new wave of pain hit, Sam had time to think. His head, despite the agony, was clear, and he knew he had decisions to make.

 

His first decision was to throw out the toys. He didn’t dare venture out of the motel room, not in this condition, but just seeing them wrapped up in a trash bag by the door made him feel better. Sure, now he had no way of alleviating the pain, but the fact that he never had to shove anything up his ass again was enough of a relief.

 

When his heat had abated enough for him to feel safe going outside, he tossed the toys in the dumpster behind the motel and bought some stronger, all-natural suppressants from the drugstore on the corner. John always refused to buy stronger ones when Sam asked, said they were bad for him, and he was completely right. But he also never bought the natural pills because they were too expensive. Sam didn’t care; he had a bit of money saved up, and he really needed to get his heats under control.

 

Because . . . well, because he thought he might be going to Stanford. There were problems with that plan, of course, but he had to start preparing for it before any roadblocks got in his way. If he was going to attend college as an unmated omega – and get a job, because scholarships or no, he had to have an income – then he was going to do it on his terms. This was a chance for Sam to escape the life he hated, but if he was going to do so, he had to leave behind _everything_ he hated about it. He couldn’t be any less of an omega, but he could be true to himself. He couldn’t live with himself much longer if he wasn’t. He could invest in dams if he had to, maybe even surgery, because suppressants wouldn’t last him forever.

 

But he couldn’t live like he had been the past year and a half. This wasn’t even about pride or about being himself. This was about staying sane and safe while playing with the hand he was dealt. Sam wasn’t quite ready to fold yet.

 

Dean . . . wasn’t happy.  The omega in Sam recoiled a little when Dean noticed that his heats had gotten less intense and confronted him about it. He assumed Sam had been mated, or at least found an alpha to help him through the heats. Logically, they both knew Dean would be able to scent a foreign alpha, but Dean was being Dean, which meant being more concerned about things like this than was strictly necessary for a brother to be.

 

Of course, once Sam came clean about the new suppressants, he had to come clean about everything. He was young; he didn’t have a whole lot of practice resisting Dean’s alpha voice.

 

And Dean wasn’t happy, but really, he couldn’t argue that college was any more dangerous than the life Sam was already living. That didn’t mean he had to be happy about it.

           

Sam was mostly afraid that Dean would tell Dad, but that never happened. Eventually, Dean grew to a grudging acceptance. He even got Sam a gift for when he went away (a paper grocery bag filled with pepper spray, rape whistles, and too much cash to _not_ be suspicious. “It’s not much,” Dean had explained, “but it should help you for a while.”) Sam most certainly did _not_ tear up, but he did hug Dean longer than was really necessary.

 

Sam would have been happy if he never had to tell John at all.

 

As it was, things were going too well to begin with. But Sam didn’t like to dwell on it. He eventually came to terms with the fact that John was more worried about him than angry, but Sam wouldn’t reach that peace for years to come.

 

Whatever he was expecting, college wasn’t easy. It wasn’t for anyone. Even Sam knew that, but no matter how bad it got, he reasoned that it would never be worse than the life he left behind. Someday, maybe after graduation, he would reconcile with Dean, but for now, this was all he needed:  Safety.

 

By the end of his first semester, he was reconsidering.

 

He was lucky enough to have a roommate (helpfully, a beta) who was supportive of him. Brady treated him no differently than any other student, save for the fact that he was Sam’s best and only friend. And the fact that he thought it was really cool that an unmated omega was trying to live an actual life.

 

“It kills me to see omegas just . . . _roll over_ ,” he said often, almost annoyingly so. “They were people before they presented. Not that they’re not people afterwards, but that’s the point. I think they forget. And the thing is, I’ve _never_ seen an omega get angry like you do. They just take it. Like they have no choice but to deal with the shitty life they’ve been dealt.”

 

Sam rarely responded to Brady’s rants. Not that he didn’t appreciate them, because he did, but there was really nothing he could add.

 

Brady worried about Sam. That much was obvious, and Sam would be sick of all the concern thrown his way if he didn’t so desperately crave emotional contact.

 

Brady introduced Sam to some of his friends, most of who didn’t exactly get along with Sam. It was a good effort, but it was fruitless. Sam never left the room except for class and work. The most Brady could ever get Sam to do was attend the honour society’s Thanksgiving dinner.

 

That was the _first_ time Sam was slipped a heat inducer.

 

He’d never considered his sexuality a blessing before – and honestly, he never would – but for the first time, he was grateful for it, because that was the only reason he was able to fight off his attacker. Well, that and one of the cans of pepper spray Dean got him. It was jammed, but anything is a weapon if you try hard enough. He aimed for his attacker’s eye, but he turned at the last second and Sam hit his temple. It was enough to stun him for a while, at least, enough for Sam to get away.

 

This wasn’t the first time Sam had run for his life, but it was the first time he had run for his life from a _person_.

 

The artificial heat lasted three days – much shorter than a natural one, but longer than most induced heats last – and Brady stayed with him the whole time. Sam was never so thankful that his best friend was a beta, but at the same time, he wished he would just shut up.

 

“This is bullshit,” Brady kept saying. “Absolute bullshit. Everyone’s so fucking proud that things aren’t like they used to be, that omegas have more freedoms. And for what? So you can get fucking date raped at Thanksgiving dinner. God fucking bless America. Who was this fucker, anyway? I swear to God I’m gonna – “

 

Sam groaned as another wave of pain hit him, and he clutched Brady’s hand in his own. He was probably holding on too tightly, but Brady wasn’t complaining. “It was the senior representative,” Sam admitted. “I don’t know his name. But don’t go picking fights. He’s an alpha. He’ll kill you.”

 

Brady sighed, and it seemed the fight left him, at least for now. He manoeuvred their hands so their fingers were interwoven and brushed the hair out of Sam’s eyes. Sam felt a twinge of a different kind of pain, and he knew that, in a different life, they could have been something, him and Brady. He wanted them to be something, but omegas and betas didn’t get together. It just didn’t happen.

 

But maybe someday it could, Sam thought. In the last fifty years alone, so much progress had been made towards omegas’ rights. Within his father’s lifetime, omegas could be tried in court and put to death for denying alphas their right to children, whether because they were infertile or stubborn. Within Dean’s lifetime (just barely), omegas had to be licensed through the state when they were claimed, and had the choice of wearing a collar or having a chip implanted under their skin, like dogs. And in this day and age, omegas were still found guilty of their own rapes if they took it to court, forced to bond with their attackers, and the alphas given full custody of any children that might have resulted from the assault. But some states were more progressive than others and tried to give a fair trial, or passed laws against imprisoning omegas for crimes committed against them. Baby steps.

 

And maybe Brady was right. Maybe Sam’s ambition, the fact that he was attending an Ivy League school on scholarship and holding down a job, was the start of something huge. It wasn’t inconceivable that Sam could live to see omegas and betas being together, getting married, having children. Or even omegas that never got married or conceived. That’s the kind of world Sam wanted to live in, but they were still a long way off.

 

Still, it was a happy thought, and it was the one that carried Sam into sleep.

 

:::

 

On the morning after Sam’s induced heat broke, he woke up with a warm weight against his back. Any other time, he’d freak, but his surroundings were familiar, and he couldn’t smell any malice or ill intent anywhere. In fact, he couldn’t scent an alpha anywhere near him.

Sam was up like a shot, throwing off the arm that was around his waist. “Brady!”

 

Brady jumped awake, eyes immediately wide and alert. Sam had to wonder if he was actually sleeping. “What’s wrong? Shit, what did I do?”

 

“Do you have any idea what could have happened if someone saw us?”

 

“Yeah, they’d probably gag or something.”

 

Sam levelled a glare at his roommate.

 

Brady sighed and scooted away as far as he could. Granted, that wasn’t very far, but it left a bit of space between them.

 

“I’m sorry,” he apologized sincerely. “I should have at least asked or something. I . . . this was dumb. Especially considering . . . I’m sorry.”

 

“It’s fine.” Sam always did forgive easily, and it wasn’t like he minded being held by Brady. “It’s just – you know we can’t.”

 

“Do you want to?”

 

Sam worried his lip between his teeth, nodding.

 

“Then what’s stopping us?”

 

“Betas and omegas don’t get together. They just don’t.”

 

“Omegas don’t just go to Ivy League schools either.”

 

Sam sighed. He wanted to be with Brady – really, he did, or at least try – but that wasn’t something he wanted to deal with at the moment. “I know. Maybe someday, but for now . . . for now, I just want to focus on school. One battle at a time.”

 

Brady looked at him in silence for a long time before nodding his assent. And that was that.

 

:::

 

Over the course of the next semester, Sam managed to keep his 4.0 with relative ease. He was nominated for sophomore representative of the pre-law honour society, he declined invitations for interviews from newspapers and radio stations, and he even managed to make a friend or two.

 

Most notably, he befriended another beta, a young woman his age, a freshman inspired by Sam’s decision to attend college. Her name was Jess, and she told him all about the news stories, the online articles and blog posts, a few of which depicted Sam as psycho or otherwise put him down. But most of them, she said, found him inspirational, a great activist for omega rights. It wasn’t like Sam was completely oblivious to such things, but he didn’t see any of that in himself. He was only trying to make a better life for himself, not make a statement. Still, he took the knowledge to heart, and it kept him going when he hit rock-bottom. It helped him decide to accept the representative position, among other things. If people were looking to him for inspiration, he was going to try damn hard to be inspiring. (Never mind the fact that law schools would trip over themselves to get him to enrol if Sam was half as popular as Jess said.)

 

He and Jess went everywhere together. She wasn’t subjected to Sam’s lifestyle as an omega, but she was conscious of it and looked out for him. After Sam’s third time being slipped heat inducers, she discovered nail polish, straws, and silverware that changed colours when it came in contact with contaminated food and drinks and always packed them in her purse. Honestly, she was more of an activist than Sam was, but she always claimed that he was the one that started it all. She reached out to other omegas, encouraged them to apply for college, to find jobs, to make lives for themselves. It was slow going, of course, but every success was a life changed, and that was enough for her.

 

She refused to believe that she was changing Sam’s life as well, even if it was true.

 

Sam introduced her to Brady, and they immediately hit it off. They gushed to each other about all sorts of political things, some of which Sam was familiar with, others he hadn’t even heard of.

 

They only met the one time, but after that, Brady was all Jess seemed to talk about. _So how’s Brady? You should give this to your roommate. This thing made me think of Brady_. A very tiny (less tiny than he was willing to admit) part of Sam grew more and more jealous as time went on.

 

“Do you like him?” Sam finally asked while Jess was helping him with a paper.

 

“Like whom? You spelled ‘irregular’ wrong.”

 

Sam fixed the error before he forgot, but immediately turned back to the conversation. “Brady.”

 

“You put a comma there instead of a period. And sure, he’s a cool guy. As far as I can tell. I only met him once.”

           

“No, I mean do you _like_ him?”

 

Jess looked up from the computer screen for the first time, incredulity all over her face. “You’re fucking kidding, right? Tell me you’re kidding. You’re not kidding. Okay,” she sighed. “No, I don’t _liiike_ Brady.”

 

“But you talk about him _all the time_.”

 

Jess scoffed. “No, _you_ talk about him all the time. I started bringing him up, since you apparently _liiike_ him so much.”

 

“I don’t like Brady,” Sam mumbled, fixing the punctuation Jess had pointed out.

 

“Uh huh,” Jess said, clearly not believing him. “So you two _aren’t_ screwing?”

 

Sam choked. Sometimes he forgot that sexual people immediately jumped to sex like that. “No! I -- no, I’m not into that.”

 

“What? Brady?”

 

“Sex.”

 

“Oh! Sorry, I just kind of assumed.”

 

Sam hummed, pretending to scan through his paper some more. His heart was thundering in his chest. That was the first time he had told anyone he was asexual, and in truth, it wasn’t all that bad. He wasn’t quite sure what to do with himself now that it was out in the open.

Jess, thankfully, answered for him, pointing to the screen and saying, “That should be ‘who,’ not ‘whom.’”

 

“What?” Sam contested. “No it shouldn’t.”

 

“Yes, it should. ‘Who are you?’ ‘I am he.’”

 

“’I am him.’”

 

Jess raised an eyebrow victoriously. Sam scowled and changed the word.

 

:::

 

The one time that Sam stupidly forgot to bring _any_ indicators and accepted a contaminated drink, Brady was there for him yet again, and Sam, following Jess’ example, decided to make a move. Brady was right before, after all:  Omegas didn’t just go to Ivy League schools. But now they were starting to, so what was really keeping them from challenging another social norm? He never signed up to be a role model, but as long as other omegas were looking up to him, why not give them something else? Another little glimpse of what life could be?

 

Brady was brushing the hair out of Sam’s face gently, just like last time, but otherwise not touching him. They remained good friends, and Brady respectfully kept his distance, but sometimes little displays of affection like this shined through. Sam couldn’t say he minded.

 

“Brady?” Sam croaked, throat beyond dry on the second day of induced heat.

 

“Sam.”

 

“Can I kiss you?”

 

Brady’s fingers immediately stilled, eyes darting to meet Sam’s. “Are you serious? I mean, this isn’t the heat talking?”

 

Sam scoffed. “You’re not an alpha. Or did you forget? No, I’ve been thinking about this for a while. I want to be with you. If you’re still interested, I mean.”

 

“Of course I’m still interested. To be honest, I thought ‘one battle at a time’ was a flat ‘no.’”

 

“Well, it wasn’t. Now, are you gonna let me kiss you or -- ?” Brady’s lips sealed over Sam’s oh so gently, almost reverently. Sam relaxed and let Brady guide the kiss, fully content to follow.

 

Of course, while he was silently cheering and thanking Jess for making assumptions, he also remembered the fact that Brady didn’t _know_. And that was kind of important information. When they parted with a small _smack_ , Sam said, “Before this goes any further, I need to tell you something.”

 

“Too much?”

 

“No! Not at all. I just . . . you should know that I’m asexual. It means – “

 

“I know what it means.”

 

Sam blinked. “You do?”

 

“Yeah. We read an article about it in my gender and sexuality class. And that’s totally fine. I mean, to be honest, I – “ Brady cut himself off with a small huff of laughter. “This is going to sound horrible.”

 

“What?”

 

“Just – you know, the thought of sleeping with an omega is really gross to me. Not that you’re gross!” he corrected immediately. “I have nothing against omegas. You know that. It’s just the whole . . . self-lubrication . . . _thing_ is really weird to me. Sorry.”

 

“Trust me, it is _not_ an issue,” Sam laughed.

 

“Thank God. So,” Brady plopped himself onto the bed next to Sam, and Sam scooted back to make room for him, “where do the boundaries lie?”

 

“Well, no sex.”

 

“Got that much.”

 

“Making out is good. Really good.”

 

“What about touching? Like, at all?”

 

Sam considered it. He remembered how good his own hand felt, but how he never once got off on it. He remembered his disgust from the toys, but the thought of Brady touching him wasn’t all that unappealing. “For now, let’s say nothing sexual. Let’s just take this slow.”

 

“I can do that,” Brady nodded, leaning in for a chaste kiss. “Thank you, Sam.”

 

Brady, respectfully, didn’t touch Sam again until his heat was over.

 

In hindsight, Sam wished he had.

 

The night before Brady left for Thanksgiving Break, they were making out on Sam’s bed, ignoring the music they put on completely. They were already practically on top of each other, so it wasn’t much of a stretch for Sam to crawl into Brady’s lap.

 

“Sam?”

 

Sam hummed, peppering Brady’s face and neck with chaste little kisses.

 

“Uh, you might wanna move.”

 

“Why?”

 

“I’m um – I’m kinda . . . please?”

 

Sam shifted so he could look at Brady properly, and when he did, he felt _exactly_ what Brady was referring to brush against his leg. His face exploded with heat, and Sam removed himself from Brady’s lap as calmly and carefully as he could.

 

“Sorry,” he apologized sheepishly.

 

“No, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to – I mean – “

 

“Don’t apologize. It’s not exactly a voluntary response. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have – “

 

“Yeah, it’s all your fault, Sam, because you’re just too damn hot.” Sam burst out laughing, and he would have felt bad for it if Brady weren’t watching him with a goofy smile on his face.

 

“Are we okay?”

 

“We’re _fine_ ,” Brady insisted. “No reason not to be.”

 

Sam sighed happily and snuggled closer to him again, wondering if this was the trade-off for being dealt such a shitty hand. And if it was, Sam figured it could’ve been a lot worse.

 

And then, the day Brady left, they stood in the foyer too long, infinitesimal space between them, kissing slowly and softly as Sam fixed Brady’s scarf around his throat.

 

“Be safe?” Sam whispered.

 

“Of course,” Brady promised. “I’ll see you soon.”

 

With one last little peck, he was gone, and that was the end of it. The end of everything. Two little moments were all they really had.

 

Sam wouldn’t figure out what happened on Brady’s trip until almost ten years after the fact, but when Brady was back from break, he was . . . off.

 

:::

 

“Do you want to talk about it?”

 

Jess sat down on the couch beside Sam and handed him a steaming mug. Sam didn’t really drink hot chocolate, but Jess claimed that chocolate was medicine for the soul, and Sam was too shaken, too grateful, to complain anyway.

 

“No.”

 

“Okay. I’ll send some people to get your stuff tomorrow.”

_Where ya goin’, Sammy?_

 

Sam flinched, the memory still too fresh, and shook his head. “I’ll go.”

 

“Are you sure?”

 

“I have to.”

 

“I don’t think it’s a good idea.”

_I’m tired of this waiting game_.

 

“I don’t either,” he admitted softly. “But I have to.”

 

Jess’ expression betrayed her concern, but she didn’t say anything.

 

“Come with me?” Sam hated how fragile and scared he sounded, hated this whole situation, hated his whole damn life.

 

“Of course. Do you mind if I bring someone with me?”

 

Sam knew Jess’ “someone” was an alpha, someone to protect them in case Brady tried to start anything. “Don’t tell them anything.”

 

“Okay.” Jess was so nice. Sam really didn’t deserve her.

 

“You deserve more than I can offer,” she assured. Sam hadn’t realized he had spoken.

 

“Will you be able to sleep?”

 

Sam considered it. If he slept, he’d have nightmares, he knew. But he was also tired down to his very bones. He wanted to fall asleep and never wake up.

 

“I’ll be fine,” he promised. He could get through this. He had to. He’d been through worse, had more terrifying things plaguing his dreams. So why had this shaken him so badly?

 

“You know where to find me,” and with that, Jess left him. As if she knew that Sam would need someone or some kind of reassurance in the night.

 

Well, Sam would show her. He’d sleep silently, and wouldn’t let the memories of Brady’s hands covering his body, lips on his skin, voice deep and possessive and _threatening_ and Brady said self-lubrication freaked him out but he also –

 

Sam shook his head. He’d be fine.

 

:::

 

“Sam, listen, I’m sorry.”

 

Sam ignored him, packing up his things with Jess’ help, her friend Zach keeping one eye on them and one on Brady.

 

“I said I’m sorry.”

 

“I heard you,” Sam deadpanned, still avoiding looking at Brady.

 

“Please reconsider.”

 

 “Reconsider?” he parroted, looking away from the box he was packing, “You’re fucking joking, right?” His fists clenched at his sides.

 

“No, I’m not. Sam, I – “

 

“You tried to --” Sam’s throat closed over his words. He couldn’t make himself say it out loud. “You— you—! After _everything_ , you took advantage of me! And what, you just want me to overlook that? To get over it or– or pretend like nothing happened?”

 

“Sam,” Jess interrupted gently, and Sam realized he had been shouting. He took a deep breath and tried again, softer.

 

“You’re lucky I’m not reporting you.”

 

 “Sam, I’m so sorry. Please, _please_ don’t leave me.”

 

Sam went back to ignoring him and packed up the rest of his stuff. But when they passed each other by the doorway for the last time, Sam, eyes averted to the floor, said, “Look. Something happened to you. It had to’ve, because you weren’t like this before. I want to help you with whatever it is, but you have to help yourself first.”

 

“What can I do?” He hated that Brady sounded so sincere. It made it so much more difficult to hate him for what he did.

 

“I don’t know. Work on whatever the hell this is. Because I swear to God, Brady, I’m never coming _near_ you again until I know I can trust you.”

 

“Okay. Okay, I’ll . . . I’ll see you later. I know I will.”

_You’ll like this. I know you will._

 

Sam swallowed thickly and didn’t say anything.

 

:::

 

His arrangement with Jess was supposed to be temporary, but at the end of the semester, the girl she was renting the apartment with bailed, and Sam was more than happy to pick up what she left.

 

“You’re such a sweetie, Sam,” Jess beamed. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

 

Sam couldn’t help but think that the feeling was most definitely mutual. But what he said was, “Crash and burn.”

 

A year later, those were among the last words Jess said to him. And she was totally right.

 

They called it a hate crime; said Jess had pissed too many people off with her activism. Sam knew better, but he wished he didn’t. The fire burned everything – all their possessions, all the memories, good and bad. Jess’ bones. The one good thing that came out of this was that Sam wouldn’t have to worry about digging her up once her parents laid her to rest.


	2. Chapter 2

“Do you want to talk about it?”

 

Sam was so beyond sick of hearing that question. He never thought he would hear it from Dean, and there once was a time when he wished his brother would open up more. But now was not that time. Now, Sam just wanted to scream, or else stay silent for the rest of his days. He wanted to claw at his skin to see the gaping hole in his chest for himself, to prod at it like an aching tooth. But he most definitely did _not_ want to talk about it.

 

Sam didn’t say as much, too worried about what might come tumbling out of his mouth.

 

“Sam, c’mon, I’m trying to help here.”

 

“I know,” Sam mumbled, watching his breath fog the glass on the passenger-side window. It was too cold for November in California. Or were they even in California anymore? Sam wasn’t sure. He hadn’t exactly been paying attention.

 

The anger that burned through his veins earlier had long since burned out, to be replaced by the sort of barren emptiness that fires typically leave behind. He didn’t know how he was going to survive this. Or even if he would. Now that he had been sucked back into the hunting life, his survival was even less of a sure thing now than it ever was.

 

He was strangely okay with that.

 

Dean cleared his throat. “So tell me about her.”

 

Sam didn’t want to, didn’t even want to think about her, but then Dean urged, “I wish I coulda gotten to know her. I mean, she obviously meant a lot to you,” and Sam crumbled.

 

“She did,” Sam agreed softly. “She meant the world to me. I wouldn’t – I probably wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for her.”

 

Dean’s entire posture stiffened at Sam’s words, and he realized he said something wrong. “Something you need to tell me, Sammy?”

 

“She helped me through a lot. That’s all.” And as much as Dean prodded, he didn’t open up again.

 

Sam just kept looking out the window, watching miles and miles pass by. Sometimes he wished time worked that way, just zooming past too quickly for Sam to notice everything. He wished he could fast-forward to a time when everything would be all right. He would be comfortable in his own skin, have a friend or two besides Dean. He wouldn’t lose everyone he ever held dear.

 

If Dean could hear his thoughts, Sam knew he would call him emo. But he figured he had a right to be, all things considered.

 

Sam didn’t want to ever stop driving, but Dean was tired and he himself was in no condition to drive, so they stopped at a little roadside motel in the middle of fucking nowhere. Sam’s mind was still reeling a mile a minute when Dean pulled his door open, looking all brotherly and concerned, and said that he had checked them in. Sam moved sluggishly, and Dean had to tell him three times that he had already gotten the bags before Sam stopped moving towards the trunk and turned to follow his brother to the room.

 

This wasn’t a funk he could pull himself out of. The last time his world was turned upside-down, Jess was there to help him up. Now that Jess was gone, everything came rushing back, and Sam knew – he _knew_ – that his dreams would be filled with fire and unwanted hands and “don’t you ever come back.”

 

“Sammy, please, come back to me.”

 

Sam blinked, and Dean came into focus. He didn’t have to wonder how long he was being called because the desperation in Dean’s tone said it was too long.

 

“Here,” he said with forced nonchalance, handing Sam a pill in one hand and a glass of water in another. “Once in the morning and once at night, right?”

 

Sam nodded, but he didn’t take the pill.

 

“Hey, listen. Are you listening to me, Sam?”

 

He nodded.

 

“I know you feel like shit right now, and I don’t blame you. But if you don’t take this now, you’ll regret it later, I promise you. Take your damn pill, and then you can ignore me, okay?”

 

Sam sighed – it did nothing to lift the heavy weight from his chest – and accepted what Dean was offering, swallowing the suppressant dry.

 

“I’ll be fine,” he croaked, his voice strained with emotion and lack of use. “Just give me tonight. I’ll be fine.”

 

“That’s one way to do it,” Dean said, resigned, and set the glass of water on the nightstand by Sam’s bed. And Sam realized he hadn’t spoken aloud at all.

 

:::

 

Sam was right, of course:  He slept fitfully throughout the night. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw fire, and his dreams were filled with hands, seemingly a countless number of them, touching him where he wanted them least. He woke up on almost an hourly basis, and at five, he finally gave up. He was shaking, sweating, fearful.

 

Sam slipped out of the motel as quietly as he could. It was absolutely freezing outside. They had to be much further north than Sam thought.

 

He stretched carefully, stiff from being cooped up in the car all day yesterday, not getting a chance to stretch his legs until now, and started walking. He didn’t have a specific destination, just picked a direction and started out. If he was lucky, he’d run into a gas station or something and could pick up breakfast. But right now, he just needed to feel the cool air against his skin, the burn in his legs. He wasn’t okay, but he could pretend to be. That was better than nothing.

 

After a few minutes, he broke into a jog. He never passed anyone, not even any cars on the road, and after half an hour, he turned back, lungs on fire.

 

Predictably, Dean was still asleep when Sam got back, but even now, tired as he was, Sam didn’t think he’d be able to get back to sleep. Still, the run _did_ manage to keep his mind off things for a little while, and that was really all he could ask for.

 

It became a routine of sorts:  Sam would sleep fitfully, wake up early, go for a run, pick up a newspaper and breakfast if he could, and come back, all before Dean woke up. Although, truthfully, the smell of greasy fast food breakfast usually woke him up instantly. If Dean had any complaints about Sam’s new morning routine – and Sam suspected he did – he didn’t voice them, for which Sam was grateful because his morning runs were the only things keeping him sane.

 

Dean did try to talk to him every now and then, with little side-comments that were a little pathetic, in all honesty. When Sam met Cassie, Dean tried to turn it back around on him and press about Jess. All he got out of him was that yes, he loved Jess very much, like the sister he never knew he wanted. Other than that, Sam more or less remained tight-lipped.

 

But by that point, it was becoming difficult. Dean already knew about Sam’s visions, about the one that he had of Jess’ death, the reason he blamed himself. How horrible would it be if he just spat it out?:  _I was drugged twice. The pepper spray you gave me really came in handy. Jess saved my life once._ No matter how he tried to phrase it, the words tasted like acid in Sam’s mouth, and he ended up saying nothing.

 

Just to add insult, his heats were getting worse. It was to be expected; Sam was getting older, and soon he’d be too old to safely take suppressants. It was rare that an omega reached his twenties without being mated – in fact, at that point, most parents would become desperate and set up blind dates for their child or, if they were truly running out of time, just pick a mate.

 

Sam was in a unique position. Not only did his lifestyle prevent him from actually getting to know anyone, but he couldn’t afford to be tied down to anyone not in the hunting life. Dean knew that, even though it was obvious he was concerned. What Dean didn’t know was that Sam wasn’t interested in finding an alpha, not even a little bit. And frankly, Sam had no intentions of telling him. It wasn’t any of Dean’s business, and if he said a word about it, Sam would say as much. As long as his heats didn’t interfere with hunting, he’d be fine.

 

:::

 

“The whole damn reason I went with you in the first place was to find Dad!” Sam shouted, incredulous. After _everything_ , how the hell could Dean just accept that John didn’t want to be found and move on?

 

“And now that’s not happening,” Dean snapped right back. “At least until Dad says it is.”

 

“Jess _died_ while I was gone, trying to help you find him! _And he knows what killed her_!”

 

“Fucking hell, will you calm down?!”

 

“No, I will not -- !”

 

“Why are you so pissy?! Are you in heat or something?!”

 

Sam’s mouth shut with an audible click of teeth before dropping open again in shock. He laughed humorlessly. “Stop the car.”

 

“What?”

 

“I said stop the damn car!”

 

Dean slammed on the brakes, making them both pitch forward, but Sam was too pissed to call Dean out on it. He got out of the car and slammed the door, leaning into the open window, his tone low and dangerous. “I’m going to Sacramento, with or without you.”

 

“Are you fucking crazy?” Dean hissed. “Get in the damn car.”

 

“Are you going to find Dad?”

 

“No. I’m going to save the people Dad is sending us to help.”

 

“Then I’m not getting in the car.”

 

“Sam – “ Dean sighed, exasperated, but he was already pulling his bags out of the back.

“Sam!”

 

“I’m going to California.”

 

“I’m not going with you!”

 

“That’s fine.”

 

He turned his back and started walking, even though Dean was still shouting at him to come back. Sam couldn’t help but be reminded of the night he left for Stanford, except no one was calling him back then.

 

“Fine!” Dean gave in when Sam was a good distance down the road. “But when you’re claimed on the side of the road by some gross trucker, don’t bother calling me!”

 

Sam shook his head, tears stinging his eyes. He kept walking.

 

He walked for as long as he could, and then kept walking. The sun rose and bore down on his back, but he ignored it. As long as he got to the bus station, nothing else mattered along the way.

 

After a couple of hours of sunlight, Sam saw a figure down the road and slowed down, Dean’s parting comment bouncing around in his head until he couldn’t help but be scared. He was strong; he could fight for himself. But what if this time was different? What if this person used their alpha voice and he couldn’t resist it? There were so many ways this could go wrong.

Sam kept his hand on the knife in his pocket and kept going.

 

As he got closer, he could see they were female. Sam didn’t lower his guard in the least.

 

“I’m not gonna hurt you,” she called, not looking up from where she was staring a hole in the pavement. “Could smell you a mile away. If I was gonna hurt you, I’d have done it by now.”

 

He had to admit, she had a point. He still didn’t let go of his knife, but he did relax a little.

 

“What’re you doing on the side of the road?” she asked when he was close.

 

“I could ask you the same thing.”

 

“I’m trying to catch a ride to the bus station.” She looked up at him, squinting in the sunlight. “You?”

 

“Same thing, I guess.”

 

“You guess,” she repeated with a smile.

 

“I’m walking there,” he said more decisively. Sam felt his face heat up as the alpha laughed at him. He hated that his body was reacting to her.

 

“Why don’t you wait with me?”

 

Sam set his jaw and shook his head. She smelled good, and even though Sam wasn’t in heat, he was reacting to her more than normal. It was difficult to deny her request.

 

“No, thanks,” he managed, and getting that bit out made everything else so much easier. He said, “I’m in a hurry,” and kept walking.

 

A total of three cars passed him on his way, one of them in the wrong direction. A semi-truck passed him, and he thought he heard a whistle, but he grit his teeth and kept walking, Dean’s parting words ringing still in his ears.

 

The sun was heading downward when he got to the train station, sweaty and tired. All he wanted was a nap and a shower, but even now, he couldn’t let his guard down. As soon as he stepped through the doors, he was assaulted by a number of scents -- some threatening, most neutral. More than one interested. Sam tried to ignore them all, but he kept his ears open and his hands free.

 

“One ticket to Sacramento, please,” he requested softly. The woman behind the counter made a face that Sam pretended not to notice.

 

“Sorry, but the last bus just left,” she said, actually managing to sound apologetic. “The next one is tomorrow morning.”

 

Sam tried not to sigh. “That’s fine. Um. I’ll just. Wait here.”

 

“Do you want me to reserve you a ticket?”

 

“Yes please,” he smiled thankfully.

 

She smiled back wordlessly, and Sam took that as his cue to leave. Maybe he’d get that shower and nap after all.

 

He kept his head down, against every instinct he had, on his way to his seat. He bumped shoulders with someone and hissed – his shoulders ached from carrying his bag. “Sorry.”

 

“Hey, sweaty.”

 

Sam glanced up. The same girl from the side of the road was smiling at him.

 

“Hey,” he responded in surprise. “You catch a ride here?” She hadn’t passed him on the road, and it seemed odd that she would hitch a ride to the bus stop instead of her destination.

 

“ _Yeah_ ,” she stretched out the word wearily. “Trucker guy. Super shady and, ah, handsy. Anyway. Name’s Meg.”

 

“Sam,” he offered, smelling no malice on Meg. All that he could pick up on was a typical alpha scent.

 

“So, Sam, where’re you headed?”

 

“Um.” It couldn’t hurt to tell her that much, right? California was a pretty big state. “Sacramento.”

 

Her face betrayed her surprise. “No way. Me too! Guess we’re both stuck here, huh? Here,” Meg took Sam by his arm and led him to a row of chairs. Normally, Sam would have flinched away from the touch of an alpha that wasn’t his brother, but his skin tingled pleasantly where her fingers lingered. He’d never felt _that_ before. The closest thing he had to compare it to was . . .

 

Well, it was Brady.

 

Sam swallowed thickly and quickly built his wall. His body was obviously attracted to Meg, but he could fight it. He didn’t want a repeat performance.

 

:::

 

Sam doubled over laughing. Meg was funny. Not just funny, but charming. She was wild and spontaneous, which was something Sam didn’t really have experience in, but he liked it. As they talked, he found himself shifting closer and closer to Meg. He corrected himself at first, but eventually, he just let it happen. Meg’s smile was genuine, not predatory or seductive. She seemed to be enjoying their time together just as much as he was.

 

Eventually, though, he caught a whiff of himself and cringed. He desperately needed a shower, if this station was even big enough to have one. He’d wash up in the sink if he had to.

 

Sam excused himself awkwardly. How did one dismiss themselves for a rubdown in a bus station sink?

 

He locked himself in the bathroom – not only was it unisex, but it was the only door down the hall that wasn’t labelled _Authorized Personnel Only_. And there were no showers. It hadn’t hurt to hope until he got to this point. Sam sighed as he turned on the sink and splashed water into his face. He thought about looking at himself in the mirror, contemplating his choices up to this point in his life, but that seemed like it would be cliché and hazardous to his health. He’d wait for that particular battle.

 

Someone tried the door, knocking when they found it locked. It didn’t sound urgent, but it would be awkward if Sam didn’t open the door, right? He couldn’t just leave whoever it was out there.

He was across the bathroom in three strides, unlocking the door and stepping aside for the person to come in. Immediately, Sam was pressed against the wall, and he would have been on high alert, if it weren’t for the lips pressed sweetly against his and the shock of bleach blonde hair obscuring most of his vision.

 

“M-Meg?” he gasped, pushing her back by her shoulders. What was Meg doing here? Well that was a stupid question, but why was she kissing him?

 

“Yeah?” She tried to press herself to him, but Sam held her fast. Confusion mixed with the excitement in her expression.

 

“What are you doing?” Not that he was exactly complaining – _Jesus_ , Meg tasted as good as she smelled – but he had no idea what made her think it was a good idea to ambush him in the bathroom.

 

“You were giving me all the signals back there, big boy,” she said, not unkindly. “I thought you wanted to bone.”

 

To his horror, Sam felt his face heat up dizzyingly quick. She just _mentioned_ sex, for Pete’s sake. All things considered, he shouldn’t be acting like this.

 

And yet, he could feel his body reacting to hers, the familiar heat pooling in his groin.

 

“No!” That came out a little too loud and a lot too indignant. “I mean . . . sorry, I didn’t know I was giving you some kind of signal.”

 

“So you _don’t_ want to hook up?”

 

Truthfully, he didn’t. But he did want Meg. He wanted to kiss her and bury his face in her hair and just breathe. But logically, even though they were going to the same place, Sam knew that was unlikely. Meg was wild; she probably wasn’t looking for a relationship.

 

“No, I don’t want sex,” he admitted. “But . . . I’ll eat you out.”

 

Meg’s grin was lopsided – and yeah, this time, slightly predatory – when Sam spun them so Meg was against the wall and kissed her silly.

 

:::

 

“You didn’t let her, uh.” Dean made a vague sort of hand gesture that was apparently supposed to encompass what he was trying to say. Sam got it, of course, and he bit his cheek.

He and Dean had made up, but Dean was just as irritating as ever. “No, Dean, she didn’t Claim me.”

 

“But you had a quickie in the bathroom?”

 

“No.”

 

“Man, maybe you should have let her knot you, at least,” Dean said as if Sam hadn’t responded at all. “Not many alphas will just let you go after that.”

 

Sam didn’t answer. His heart still ached when he thought about it, and every minute he tried to reason against what he had felt for Meg. She was the exact opposite of Brady, after all. That must have been what had drawn him to her.

 

When they stopped for the night, Sam spit on the side of the road, imagining he could still taste her.

 

:::

 

Sam lived his life in snapshots.

 

There was Meg, and then there wasn’t. And then there was again. And then there was too much of her. Dean gave him grief about sexing up a demon until he saw Sam’s face and sobered up.

 

There was Dad, and then there wasn’t. For all they fought, Sam loved his father, and his loss ripped him apart. One of the last things John had told him was to find a damn mate already, because it was too dangerous to be toting around an unmated omega. One of the last things Sam had said was that a senile old beta didn’t know shit about what his life was like or what he needed to do.

 

Truly, Sam loved his father. But he knew where Dean’s ignorance came from.

 

There was Madison, a kind beta, hurt like Sam had been but for some reason that just brought them closer. She smelled like roses and candy canes, but she tasted like iron and salt. Sam didn’t feel bad kissing her because they both needed it. They both had secrets that they needed to let out, and even though all they did was kiss – or perhaps _because_ that’s all they did – Sam felt a tremendous weight lift off his shoulder. He was surprised at how dominating Madison was, taking control naturally, and Sam was more than content to let her. He felt taken care of, rather than ordered around. She took care of Sam and treated him gently. Madison was there for him.

And then she wasn’t.

 

:::

 

And then there was the seed of doubt that John had planted in their heads just before he died. Sam had thoughts of impurity, sure. He’d thought about death a handful of times.

 

But never had he thought he _deserved_ to die.

 

Now that the thought was in his head, though, it made sense. He was a freak against nature. An asexual omega? Trying to merge the two identities only got him heartbreak – it got Dean hurt and killed the people he loved. Maybe it would be better if he were gone.

The blackouts only supported the idea, and he shoved a gun in Dean’s hand as soon as he had the chance. He didn’t even have the chance to beg for death before his brother was refusing and Sam felt like he was drowning.

 

:::

 

Sam faded in and out. He remembered bits of the ordeal with Jo, remembered his finger pulling the trigger on Dean, and the threat to bite his tongue off. Meg taunted him inside his own head, but what was worse was what Meg said out loud. She revealed his secrets, and Sam would have banked on the fact that demons lie if the confession hadn’t made Dean freeze, a look of clarity on his face.

 

When Meg was gone and they were alone, Dean offered to find Sam a doctor, a therapist, anything to help him with this. Because obviously Sam was delusional and needed help, right?

 

Sam almost wanted to go along with it. There was a part of him that said that it was probably best to see someone, because it couldn’t be healthy to live like this. But there was a larger part of himself that was angry and prideful, and that was the part that made Sam grit his teeth and say, “We have bigger fish to fry.”

 


	3. Chapter 3

So apparently angels existed. This should have been a blessing to know, to have been graced by their presence. Instead, Sam learned that every last one of his prayers fell on deaf ears, and he felt even more hopeless.

 

His faith was the last thing he had. With age, his suppressants had gradually stopped working, which meant he had real heats to deal with for the first time since he presented. That, on top of his grief after Dean’s death, ripped the rug from under his feet. He was a mess, and it was a miracle he hadn’t ended up Claimed in some back alley of a condemned bar.

 

And he didn’t even want to touch the issue of his sexuality, not when his hormones left him torn between pushing intrusive drunkards away and pulling them closer.

 

And now, this? Learning that he was Heaven’s Public Enemy #1? The angels were kicking him while he was down.

 

            He kept his head down and tried to swallow his pride. It was the omega in him that made him take every hit without argument and had him avoiding eye contact and following orders, even though both the angels he knew were betas.

 

Part of it was shame. He was The Boy with the Demon Blood, damned, unclean, unfit to be in the presence of angels. Especially since the suppressants stopped working, and Sam could actually feel his body temperature rising when he was around the angel Castiel. When they shook hands, Sam felt a spark like an electric shock, but Castiel seemed to feel nothing. Sam kept his eyes on the carpet.

 

He wasn’t looking for anything, anyway. He’d never be looking for anything ever again.

 

:::

 

“It’s nothing personal,” Castiel had explained once, a long while after they met and after the angel had loosened up a little. Just a little. Also, he was probably drunk. “It’s just . . . the whole demon blood thing.”

 

“Yeah, Cas, I got it,” Sam mumbled, dejected. At this point, such comments were commonplace enough that Sam was more or less used to them. Oh, they still hurt, but more like a kick than a stab.

 

“I like you,” Castiel continued as if Sam hadn’t spoken. “You know I wouldn’t let anything hurt you, if I could stop it.”

 

“If you say so.”

 

It would have been food for thought, if within the hour, Castiel hadn’t also said, “Sam, of course, is an abomination.”

 

That pretty much summed up their relationship, Sam supposed. For every nice thing Castiel said to or about him, there was one not-so-nice thing. Sam tried to think of it the other way around – for every not-nice thing, there was one nice thing. It helped, a little

These days, every little bit counted.

 

:::

 

Sam couldn’t put his finger on the exact moment that their relationship shifted. There had always been that spark between them that, supposedly, only Sam could feel. Eventually, Castiel was mostly pleasant. There were a few exceptions, of course, little nuances of humanity that Castiel hadn’t caught on to just yet, but he tried.

 

If Sam had to place a time to it, it was right before the beginning of the end, the beginning that he prevented. For a split second, when Castiel rested his hand on Sam’s shoulder, something shifted in the angel’s eyes. (Not much of an angel, now. Mostly human, in fact.) But before Sam could say a word, he was being led away. He had work to do, demon blood to drink, an apocalypse to stop.

 

What would he have said, anyway? Maybe Castiel had felt the attraction there, and maybe not. Either way, neither of them would have ever been able to act on it.

 

After that, everything got in the way. Sam came back from the Cage soulless, which was a roadblock in and of itself because Sam was disgusted with himself. Dean told him a bit of what happened – not very much, lest his poke a hole in the wall in Sam’s head – and Sam could hardly believe what he heard. Sleeping around? Letting himself be _knotted_? He was horrified.

 

“At least there’s hope, though, right?” Dean had tried to encourage. “I mean, this means you’re not whatever. Asexual.”

 

Sam had not been in the mood to correct him.

 

Just like with everything, though, he picked up and moved on. This was neither the largest obstacle nor the most damaging, because not long after, Castiel knocked over his wall. Sam remembered the fire, the pain, the intense nausea and exhaustion. He remembers the hallucinations of Lucifer, but more vividly, he remembered those of Castiel, the way he behaved, as if he wanted Sam, how his body reacted with heat and slick that he didn’t want but couldn’t stop. The moment Sam felt pleasure pool in his cock, he felt dizzy and sick, his body crying out for a knot while he was screaming for it all to stop.

 

Oh, how the doctors had a field trip with that one.

 

He also remembered Castiel curing him, breaking himself in the process. Sam was grateful, sure, but he had no delusions. He wouldn’t have needed fixing if Castiel hadn’t shattered his brain to begin with. Still, he couldn’t begin to be angry, because even though he still felt sick to his stomach at the thought, the way the hallucination of Castiel had touched him, had spoken to him, had fucking _looked_ at him, kept his heart pounding in his chest long after the fact. At that point, Sam had to admit that he had it bad for the angel.

 

But he still wasn’t looking for anything. He wouldn’t do that to Dean. To Castiel. To himself.

 

Sam _could_ pinpoint the exact moment he and Castiel fell together, or at least considered it. It was soon after Castiel took Sam’s hallucinations from him, and the angel had more than a few screws loose. Sam had been researching when Castiel decided to sit in his lap and play with his hair.

 

“Cas,” Sam warned gently, “I’m working.” It wasn’t just the work, though. It was the way his pulse skyrocketed, his face heated up, and his mouth went dry.

 

Castiel didn’t move. “I’ve always found beauty in God’s creations,” he whispered, as if he were telling a secret. “More so now than ever.”

 

“That’s great,” Sam said, not trying to brush Cas off, but he really did need to figure out how to beat the Leviathans.

 

“You are very beautiful, Sam,” Castiel continued, unfazed. He was leaning closer, and Sam couldn’t stop him if he tried. “You’ve always been beautiful. Your soul is _so_ bright.”

 

In a breath, Castiel’s lips were on his, and Sam _melted_. Castiel tasted absolutely divine, no pun intended – not as overwhelming as an alpha would be, but just as strong and desirable.

 

It was all Sam could do to push him away and leave. He couldn’t do this. He _wouldn’t_ do this. Castiel was out of his mind, quite literally. He probably didn’t even realize what he was doing.

 

But Cas wasn’t stupid, another part of Sam argued. He was still aware of his surroundings. He probably knew exactly what he was doing and just didn’t _care_.

 

Still, Sam felt like he’d be taking advantage of Cas if he let this happen, especially now. He was dirty and lowly, and it’s not like Cas could consent to anything at the moment. This was like taking advantage of a drunk person. Like a mugger taking advantage of an inebriated president or something. His brain wasn’t really up to the task of making comparisons at the time.

 

But God, Sam imagined he could still feel Castiel’s kiss against his lips, warm and tingly like menthol. He now had no doubt that Cas felt the same spark he did. He did have doubt that the angel – the beta – understood what it meant.

 

He had to tell someone. Until now, this had been Sam’s dirty little secret, but now he needed help. This had to stop.

 

Despite everything, Dean was his go-to. He hadn’t understood the omega thing, nor the asexual thing, and he wouldn’t understand this. But Sam had no one else. Dean was an alpha, after all; maybe he would surprise Sam.

 

:::

 

“ _Bondmates_?” Dean repeated incredulously. “Are you serious?”

 

Sam gave Dean a look that plainly said he was dead serious, but he didn’t say a word.

 

“You realize Cas is a beta, right?”

 

“Yeah, I get that,” Sam shot. He didn’t mention Brady or Madison. Dean would die (for good) before he found out, if Sam had anything to say about it. “That’s why I need help.”

 

“Need help with what? Wooing your angel boyfriend?”

 

“I need help keeping him away.”

 

Dean blinked silently for a moment, and Sam hated that because it meant Dean was about to argue with him. Sure enough, Dean leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, and said, “Okay. Let’s say you’re right and Cas is your bondmate. I didn’t think it was possible to happen with a beta, but hey. Whatever. Do you know how _lucky_ you are to have found that? Especially in this life?”

 

Sam grit his teeth. He _knew_. Dammit, he knew, and everything in him wanted nothing more than to be with Cas and be _Claimed_ by him and – Sam shuddered – be filled up with his kids. But he’d been fighting that same instinct his whole life, and just because it was stronger now didn’t mean he was just going to roll over and give up.

 

Not that he didn’t want to.

 

“What’s this about?” Dean asked. “Why do you not want to be with Cas?”

 

“He’s an angel,” Sam bit out, when all he wanted to do was scream:  _I’m asexual. I don’t want this. I don’t_ need _this._ “And he’s our friend. Oh, and he’s kind of crazy at the moment. And it’s not like we have a lot of time for this kind of thing anyway. And – “

 

“Okay, just. Stop. If you say ‘and’ one more time I’m gonna go crazy. You didn’t even answer my question.”

 

Dean dragged a hand over his face and sighed, and Sam was suddenly very grateful that Dean was trying. He’d never been good at the whole talking thing.

 

 “What do you _want_ to do?”

 

That was such a loaded question. Sam wanted to be with Cas, but was that what he really wanted or just what his body was telling him? And that posed another question:  Was he only questioning his attraction out of habit or pride? Or lack of pride? He hadn’t resisted like this with Meg, or Brady, or Madison.

 

Why was he resisting now?

 

“You got an answer for me?” It would have been easy to be offended, but Dean’s voice was soft. He wasn’t demanding an answer, but was honestly asking.

 

Sam shook his head. He hated it, but he really didn’t know what he wanted. He was resisting his attraction to protect himself, but did he really need protection from Cas?

 

Well, when you figure it out, let me know.” It was a dismissal, and Sam knew it. There was apparently a limit to how much of this stuff Dean could talk about in one sitting. “I’d like to know if my brother’s getting boned by the angel.”

 

:::

 

Brady was an obstacle Sam had not been expecting, not after all these years. Sam thought about him sometimes, and not just in nightmares and full-body tremors. He wondered if Brady ever did find help, clean himself up, give back in some way.

 

Now, Sam could see that it was a waste of time.

 

Sam hadn’t felt so angry in a long time. His blood boiled, he quite literally saw red, but he tried to stay stoic. So Brady was a demon. That explained a lot.

 

“What’s wrong, Sam, cat got your tongue?” Brady taunted. “Still unmated, I see. Can’t imagine why.”

 

“Fuck off,” Dean snarled. Sam felt gratitude swell in his chest, but he grit his teeth and stayed silent.

 

“Don’t kill him,” Crowley warned. “We need him.”

 

Sam wanted to disagree, but he didn’t have a leg to stand on. He wasn’t as surprised as he probably should have been to discover that Brady was a demon. It made sense – the sudden change in attitude, the feral way he attacked Sam, the fact that he never heard from Brady again, despite the fact that Sam left an open invitation.

 

“Remember when I came back from break all messed up?” Brady asked when they were alone. Sam had locked Dean in the bathroom, kept a tight grip on his knife, and knew he was lying to himself when he said he just wanted to talk. “When I tried to take that sweet ass for myself? That was the new Brady. That was me.”

 

Sam felt like he had jumped into a frozen lake. So Brady wasn’t a demon the entire time? The majority of Sam’s college career was spent with the real Brady? Sam was going to be sick. He should have known, should have figured it out. It was probably too late to save him now.

 

“Remember how you tried to get me on the right track?” Brady continued, as if Sam’s vision wasn’t blurred with tears he was fighting to keep back, as if his knuckles weren’t white around Ruby’s knife. “You were a really good friend. But ol’ Yellow Eyes didn’t send me back to be your friend. No, we could tell we were starting to lose you. You were becoming a mild-mannered, worthless sack of piss. Nice to see not much has changed,” he added. “We couldn’t have that. You were our favorite. So I shoved you towards pure, sweet, innocent Jessica.”

 

“Jess was a beta,” Sam muttered, voice shaky. Brady didn’t even fucking want sex with him. He just wanted to drive him away as painfully as possible.

 

“So was Brady. Doesn’t matter anyway. I toasted her on the ceiling. You know she let me right in the door, after I said I wanted to apologize to you? She thought I had actually cleaned up my act. Man, was she surprised.”

 

“You – you – “

 

“That’s right. Azazel might have put the hit out on Jessica, but man, I got to have all the fun!”

 

Sam felt like he was out of control. He blinked, and he had the knife pressed to Brady’s throat, and Brady was taunting him – _Do it, Sammy. Do it if it’ll make you feel better._

 

He didn’t know where he found the strength to walk away, to go unlock Dean and sheathe the knife. But he didn’t make the mistake a second time.

 

:::

 

Sam tried to tell himself that killing Brady was the right thing to do, because the Brady Sam fell for couldn’t still be in there, not after so long.

 

Dean didn’t question him, didn’t try to stop him, nothing. He must have known Sam needed to do this, and even though his expression screamed concern, he didn’t interfere.

 

:::

 

Castiel apologized to Sam not long after the kiss, because even crazy, he regretted doing anything to Sam without his permission. Sam’s heart swelled with affection for the angel. Meeting Brady again, looking into the taunts, Sam thought a lot about his attraction to Castiel, and he decided that, if he ever had the chance again, he’d talk to Cas about building something together. A relationship, a home.

 

Something may have happened there, but there were Leviathans, and then there weren’t, and Castiel was dead. If there was any doubt in Sam that he and Castiel were bondmates, it was scared off with the sudden, nearly unbearable pain that Sam felt when Castiel was suddenly just _gone_.

 

Sam’s head reeled. He was lost and scared and part of that was the fact that Dean was gone and he was no longer protected by an alpha. But most of it was the loss of his bondmate.

Could betas even mate with omegas? Sam didn’t know, but he didn’t much care, either. It didn’t matter, because he would never get to find out.


End file.
